


When Duff Met Tommy

by Mrs_Dark_Knight



Series: Wild Side [2]
Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 13:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11670165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Dark_Knight/pseuds/Mrs_Dark_Knight
Summary: His wolf was already frustrated and itching for a fight, the idiot—whoever he was—just dumped a fuck load of gasoline on a flame."What the fuck's wrong with you?" He snapped, bringing his empty glass down hard on the sticky counter. Duff caught a whiff of a scent that was clearly alpha. A fair match then.The Alpha chuckled, unbothered by Duff's blatant challenge. "Relax kid, I'm sorry about the scenting thing. It's just that I was minding my own business with some babes over there when I caught the scent of a miserable little pup."It seemed he was doomed to interact with assholes.





	When Duff Met Tommy

When Duff met Tommy they didn't even have a name yet, his hair was still blue (darker at the roots) and the band hadn't fit together like they did now.

For one, Steven kept loading up on heroin to stay sane (it took the edge off, dulled his senses so he wouldn't have to live in everyone's sick head all the time). Izzy was still deep in the drug dealing (and Axl wouldn't stop raining hell down on him for it) and Slash, well, Slash was at his mother's house more often than not. He wasn't a fan of the fighting.

Duff met Tommy on a regular Saturday night in some dive on Sunset. Or, to be accurate, Tommy barelled his way into Duff's life, carved out a giant Tommy-shaped space and fit himself there perfectly. He had no idea Motley—not they were in any way famous yet—would even be in the building. If he had, he wouldn't have come. The whole purpose of this trip was to _escape_ Hellhouse, and Izzy and Axl's constant fighting/fucking (his poor nose had to deal with the stench of sex all through the house). His "pack" was unstable and confusing and his wolf just wanted to be out of there for a few hours. That, or he'd snap and have them all for dinner (not really, he was vegan, but it was what he yelled to shut them up).

He was on his final sip of whiskey when someone dropped themself unto the empty stoop next to him and quite literally leaned into his personal space to scent him.

Fucking _rude_.

His wolf was already frustrated and itching for a fight, the idiot—whoever he was—just dumped a fuck load of gasoline on a flame.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" He snapped, bringing his empty glass down hard on the sticky counter. Duff caught a whiff of a scent that was clearly alpha. A fair match then.

The Alpha chuckled, unbothered by Duff's blatant challenge. "Relax kid, I'm sorry about the scenting thing. It's just that I was minding my own business with some babes over there when I caught the scent of a miserable little _pup."_

The growling cut off. "I'm not—"

"Miserable? Of course you are, I've watched you go through so many glasses of whiskey it ain't funny." The brunet stuck out his hand as if he expected Duff to ignore the fact that he was _watching_ him. "Name's Tommy Lee, drummer, I'm from—"

After a moment's hesitation, Duff took it. "Motley. Yeah. I know who you are."

Tommy beamed, clearly pleased. "Yeah?"

"I've heard talk on the strip, you're _supposedly_ the next big thing." The blond replied with a sickly sweet smirk. "Of course _every_ band thinks they're destined for fame, no big deal." Duff had no fucking idea why he was picking a fight, but he was bored and Tommy had interrupted his brooding. He'd have to pay the price for it.  

"Ouch." The brunet, surprisingly, wasn't offended. He chuckled low and dark, shaking his head in amazement. "I guess we'll see. You have to come hear us sometime."

Duff bit the inner corner of his lip to fight down a smile. "Yeah. Sure. If I have absolutely _nothing_ else to do."

Tommy made a soft sound of amusement. "I'm _that_ low on the list huh."

"You're right under 'Join Poison'." He shot back, feeling an indescribable thrill when Tommy laughed harder, looking at him like he was something amazing.

Tommy finally pulled his hand away (he'd forgotten they were still holding hands) and signalled the bartender for another round. "So, Pup, why are you sitting here drowning in misery? Not like our kind can get drunk off this stuff anyway." Yeah, but not for lack of trying.

"I'm not." He hoped he had broadcasted how much he didn't want to go down that line of questioning.

 Tommy shrugged, broad shoulders stretching the material of his barely-there tee. "Fine. So what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

It took Duff's poor brain a while to realize Tommy was flirting. "Uhm..." Maybe he was wrong, maybe he was making polite conversation. Whatever it was, it was weird. Alphas didn't pick up Alphas, they fucked omegas and betas and humans—everything but another Alpha. Well, he was sure there were alphas that fucked but they weren't made to, that would be queer—

"You OK over there?" Tommy asked, brows furrowed. "You're looking like you kinda wanna run to the hills."

"I'm fine." He rasped, taking a sip of his drink to buy time. He should just get up and walk right out of here without another word. "In answer to your first question, as you can see, I'm totally not here drinking all my money while drowning in misery."

Duff chanced a glance at the brunet's face. He was smiling.

"Tell you what, how about we get outta here and I get you something to help you drown your sorrows." The drummer quirked a brow, then rolled his eyes at Duff's expression. "No, I'm not a serial killer or rapist. I don't want to skin you and I'm not gonna steal your kidney."

Duff choked out a laugh. "Funny, that sounds _exactly_ like something an organ-harvesting serial-killer-rapist interested in skinning the occasional victim would say."

"Fuck, you got me there." Tommy was smiling that ridiculously dazzling smile again. "Need a character reference?" He waved someone over and Duff's wolf perked up when the person got close enough to give off the unmistakable smell of a cat.

"Hey, Vince. Tell this nice young gentleman that I'm not gonna eat him."

The blond daintily raised an eyebrow, staring at Duff like he could see right through him. "Don't go home with him if you ever wanna see the sun again." He finally said, expression sincere.

"Ugh, come on, Vince." Tommy groaned, mock-wounded. "After all we've been through together."

Vince shrugged, grinning a little. "Well, you asked me to be honest."

"Who're you gonna believe, kid?" The brunet queried. "The cat who may or may not be tripping balls on coke right now? Or me."

"It's Michael, not kid." Duff said. "And I'm sorry, Vince. I'm gonna trust Tommy on this one." Jokes aside, the wolf seemed perfectly comfortable around Tommy, he didn't smell like a crazy (and yes, crazies had their own specific acrid scent). Besides, Duff could very well take care of himself.

"Good choice." Tommy pat his shoulder, nodding in approval before rising to his feet. He was more or less as tall as Duff was— thank goodness, he didn't have to look down on him to have a conversation. "Let's go, Michael. Let's make the most outta a miserable night."

He really hoped they would.

\--------

Tommy turned out to be pretty friendly, extremely obnoxious (but then that was basically expected of a rocker), and loaded with all kinds of stories about everything on God's green earth.

"I don't fucking believe you." Duff maintained as they climbed the stairs into Tommy's building.

"I shit you not, man. Hendrix was quite literally a voodoo child."

The bassist rolled his eyes, grinning despite himself. "Right, and I'm Jesus."

"No, seriously, knew a guy who worked for him." Tommy insisted. "I tell you, he was a fucking warlock." Tommy winked lasciviously. "You could pass for Punk Jesus."

Duff ducked his head to hide a smile. "Hmm. Turning water into whiskey?"

Tommy snorted and elbowed him.

"Seriously, you're a werewolf, Vince is a fucking werecat and I'm pretty sure the bartender was some kind a faerie creature." Tommy's eyes were boring into him, "and you can't believe someone was a warlock."

"Oh, come off it." Duff huffed, "it's not the warlock thing that's surprising. It's that _you_ knew someone who worked for Jimmi, yeah right."

Tommy grinned, bumping their shoulders together. "I'll prove it to you, one of these days."

Duff was still iffy on that. What Tommy did prove, however, is that he definitely had something potent enough to get them drunk.

"What is it?" Duff ask, staring at the purple glowing liquid with undisguised awe. "Man I only took one shot, and I feel..."

"Yup, magic." Tommy poured Duff another shot. "A friend of mine, er...whaddya call 'em, _sorceress?_ Yeah one of those, she makes me a batch ever so often."

"Oh." Why the fuck was he trusting a complete stranger? It didn't matter much, his wolf was... oddly _quiet_ around him.

"Well, drink up. This is probably the one time in your life you'll ever get drunk."

He didn't have to tell Duff twice. The more they drank, the more that talked. Duff's wolf was pretty blissed out in all of this and more or less chasing it's own damn tail. The bassist found himself talking about his band and their constant bickering —everything he was trying to escape.

"I think Izzy was so mad this one time, he put a hex on Axl. Made him bark every time he opened his mouth to argue, since he was, according to Izzy, _such a fucking bitch._ "

Tommy started laughing so hard he spilled some of his drink on his shirt. "Man, your pack sounds like fun. All we do here is fuck. Fuck groupies, fuck each other, fuck up—it's endless really." 

"Yeah, well," Duff eyes darted to Tommy's lips then to his eyes. The brunet was staring right back at him, lips quirked upwards at the corners. "It's not as fun as it seems." Especially with his wolf wanting stability and peace.

"So, what, you got dressed and came out here to fuck your problems away?"

"Dressed to the tee?" The blond snorted, falling flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling. "Man, I just threw something on and went out to avoid the fuckery." 

"You're telling me you wore jeans like these out for a regular night of drinking?" Tommy's large hand inched up the back of his thigh, pausing to press against his exposed skin. "Man, these rips are so strategically placed, I wasn't the only one checking you out."

Duff allowed his legs to more or less fall open, enjoying the waves of heat rising in his body. "You were checking me out, Alpha?" He had no idea what he was doing,or why the hell he was doing it.

Tommy made a low, broken sound. "Behave."

"What if I don't want to?" The fact that he was seeing three different Tommys was testament to how utterly smashed he was. "C'mere."

He could feel the warmth wherever their bodies touched and he tried to focus on that instead of the fact that he had no fucking idea what he was doing.

"I'm here." Tommy rumbled, sounding amused and a little—or a lot turned on.

"Good." He was gonna do something. Say something maybe, it didn't matter, Tommy's lips were right there so he might as well go for it.

The brunet was laughing at him again, but it didn't matter because he was laughing against Duff's lips and kissing him while he did it. "I thought you didn't get dressed up to fuck."

"I didn't—" He sniped, but Tommy clearly wasn't about to give him the chance to talk, not with the way he slipped his tongue into Duff's open mouth, effectively stealing his words.

He was really trying his hardest to remember to breathe, but Tommy was a welcome weight against him, large hands bracketing his slender hips, teeth nipping against his lower lip. Maybe fucking his problems away wasn't a terrible idea.

Yeah. This was good.

Or it was until he pulled away to press a kiss to Tommy's neck and literally _whimpered_. He just smelled, so much like home—but not really. He didn't smell like his family, just like another wolf, and it had been so long since he had bonded with anyone. Especially not his own shitty pack that were always at each other's necks—

The brunet froze. "Uhm... Duff?"

His wolf whined, pulling Tommy closer against him and Jesus fuck was he gonna regret this in the morning.

"Ok... OK this is fine too." Tommy was saying, but Duff wasn't listening. The bassist just enjoying the feel of being held in silence.

Tommy shifted them around (Duff had made a little noise of protest at that) so they were spooning, which was much more comfortable. The drummer had tried to get them on the bed but Duff wasn't having it— this was fine.

He woke in the morning well-rested but a bit stiff (sleeping on the floor while in human form will do that to you). Tommy was downstairs waiting with coffee and more ridiculous stories about celebrities.

"I bet you a hundred bucks Jimmy Page is _actually_ Satan."

"Tommy—" Duff chided, lips stretching into a smile despite his efforts.

"No seriously, have you seen his creepy mansion? We should ask the Council about it." Yeah, like they were gonna give out classified information.

He didn't mention what happened last night.

Shocker.

Like the true gentleman Duff was beginning to realise he was, Tommy called him a cab and kept him company while he waited.

"The next time you need quality pack time, just take it. Force-cuddle them." Was all he said about it.

"Force-cuddle them." Duff echoed flatly.

"Yup, you're bigger than those fuckers anyway." He shrugged. "It's what I do to my idiots. It keeps your wolf calm, and everything is a bit easier." Tommy sent him off with a fierce bear hug and a napkin with his number on it.

"Come watch us play some time."

The bassist laughed. "Right after I dye my hair and join Poison."

 

\--------

Part 2—present

\--------

 

The fact that the band was even holding it together (even without Izzy) was probably thanks to Tommy. Duff made it his god given duty to cuddle each member into submission back then, and it had worked. Seriously. The wouldn't even have a real fight if he was anywhere in the general vicinity. They still bickered nonstop, like before, but it was more for show than anything. They had come a mighty long way.

Slash (grown Slash) stumbled down the stairs sometime after two and took a seat in the kitchen. "Hey, losers."

Duff froze with his toast half buttered, blinking at a satiated looking Slash. "You're back."

"Yup."

Duff wrinkled his nose. "You reek of sex."

The guitarist managed to look even more pleased with himself. "Oh yeah."

The bassist snorted, "welcome back."

"Good to be back."

"Oh, hey Slash. Thank god you're back." Steven said when he finally got up about ten minutes later. "Now I can embarrass you with memories of Duff's wolf with bows in his fur."

"Don't you fucking dar—" Too late. Steven was broadcasting pictures of Duff with ribbons (mostly pink) tied into his fur and baby-Slash looking ridiculously pleased.

The brunet looked somewhere between mortified and amused. "Why the fuck would he let me do that?"

Duff shrugged, mission temporarily forgotten. "He likes kids. If it was Steven he'd quite literally fucking rip him to shreds."

"Language." Axl mumbled as he tottered in, sporting a serious case of sex-hair and a line of carefully placed bruises. "Why are you so loud in the mornings, fuckheads?"

Steven considered this carefully. "Probably because it's two in the evening."

"Fuck really?" He shuffled over to the coffee maker and seemed to stare at it in hopes it would turn itself on. Slash offered his help. "When does Ola's broomstick land?"

"How are you making fun of witches when you're banging one?" Duff queried, taking a bite of his toast. He dropped it with a shriek, jumping almost ten foot in the air when an electric shock assaulted his rear. "What the—"

"Warlock." Slash corrected, handing Axl his coffee cup. "I'll just keep doing that till you get it right."

"How are you throwing shit at Axl for banging a wi- _warlock_ —" Steven shot a nervous look at Slash who was rummaging through the freezer "—when you're getting it on with another alpha."

"I'm _not_ fucking Tommy." I mean, he wasn't exactly averse to the idea. They were just _not_. "If I'm fucking Tommy, you're fucking Dizzy." Steven grimaced.

"He's not," Axl confirmed. "It would be understandable if they were, but nope. Instead they're some kinda weird wolf bosum pals." The redhead pulled a face.

"The word you're looking for is friends." Slash said.

"With Wolfy benefits." Steven added and Duff almost inhaled his coffee.

"At least he isn't occasionally four," Duff muttered into his cup.

Axl grinned, pushing a lock of his hair behind his ear. "Whatever, that was the last time. He's back to normal now."

"Guys," Slash whined, pouting while giving them his best puppy eyes (which were pretty persuasive). "We're all outta blue popsicles."

Axl's face met the table with a thunk while Duff and Steven laughed themselves into coughing fits.

Yeah. He's sorta glad he met Tommy, as obnoxious and pushy as he might be.

**Author's Note:**

> TBC ;)  
> What do we even call this ship? Dommy? HAH


End file.
